


Getaway Car

by semperama



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Infidelity, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris isn’t actually sure what time it is, but he knows instinctively that it’s late enough that getting into trouble would come easy. Easier still when Zach half-turns to him and says, “I’ve got wine in my room.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getaway Car

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a sequel to a ficlet I wrote on tumblr, which you can find [here](http://semper-ama.tumblr.com/post/109624509392/ooh-another-one-zach-texts-chris-from-hawaii). I don't think it's necessary to read the ficlet before reading this though.
> 
> Heed the tags! This is not happy-ending Pinto.

Chris had just enough willpower a month ago to delete all the texts Zach sent him from Hawaii, but he hasn't had enough to keep himself from opening the conversation several times since then and scrolling back and forth across the place they used to be, looking for signs that they were actually there in the first place. There’s nothing, though. In between

_Merry Christmas!_

_merry christmas_

and

_I’m getting in before the kickoff party_

_me too_

there is nothing. No sign of the Conversation that Never Happened. If Chris scrolls up and down, up and down long enough, he even manages to convince himself for a few minutes that it was all a dream--a nightmare maybe--but the persistent itchy feeling behind his ribs always reminds him.

“Chris?”

That’s Zach’s real, actual voice, right in Chris’s ear, his breath hot on the side of Chris’s neck, because he’s leaning in to glance obnoxiously down at his phone. Chris quickly clicks over to his conversation with Chiwetel, then shakes his head and shrugs, a motion meant both to convey his uncertainty and get Zach to back off a little bit. He only manages to achieve the former.

“He says he walked Margot back to her hotel. I guess I’ll catch them for a quick goodbye in the morning.”

Zach hums low and nudges Chris in the ribs. “Want to head back then?”

As much as Chris wants to pretend Zach never sent those messages, this is almost worse. He figured that Sundance might unravel some of the tension, because they have been so surrounded by friends and colleagues for the past couple days and doing so much press that it should be hard to think about anything else, but here they are, teetering on the razor’s edge again.

“Yeah, sure,” Chris says. He’s out of excuses to stay at the club anyway. His castmates are gone. It’s just him and Zach now. How does it _always_ end up being just him and Zach? Chris feels like for most of his life he has been looking up and realizing that it’s just the two of them, in a world apart.

“Sure,” he says again, clearing his throat and shrugging his coat back on. “I’m getting tired anyway.”

He is, but it still feels like a lie.

Out on the street, their breaths turn into shuddery clouds and Chris pulls his shoulders up to his ears in an effort to keep warm. 

“Thanks again for coming to my thing, man,” Chris says, glancing sideways and then quickly away. It’s at least the fourth time he’s thanked him, and, for the fourth time, Zach rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, cut it out. You know I wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Yeah, well...I’m missing yours.”

“Dude, _I’m_ missing mine,” Zach says incredulously. 

“So? I could go without you. Show my support.”

“You show your support plenty. Just call me after you finally watch it and tell me how brilliant I was, and we’ll call it good.”

It’s probably better that way anyway, Chris thinks. He’ll watch Zach’s movie alone in bed, and when the performance blows him wide open, like Zach’s performances always do, no one will bear witness. He can dial Zach up later and make jokes about him making out with Franco and they’ll both laugh about.

The hotel is quiet, the hallways empty--everyone is either still out partying or long ago went to bed. Chris isn’t actually sure what time it is, but he knows instinctively that it’s late enough that getting into trouble would come easy. Easier still when Zach half-turns to him and says, “I’ve got wine in my room.”

Chris has whiskey and beer in his bloodstream already--the last thing he needs is wine. Actually, the last thing he needs is alone time with Zach. He has done such a good job of being smart so far, but _fuck_ is it exhausting.

“I can hang out for a little bit, but I’ve got an early flight,” he hears himself saying. It’s a compromise, right? Maybe he won’t even take off his coat. 

Zach’s hotel room is a mess, which is….weird. He’s usually fastidious, but it looks like half the contents of his suitcase are spread around the room, as if he is trying to take up every available space. Chris runs his fingers over the soft fabric of a green sweater that’s crumpled at the end of the bed, like it was hastily pulled off. It would have looked better on him than the denim on denim trainwreck that the chose, but Chris doesn’t pretend to understand how Zach makes his clothing choices. 

When he turns around again, one of the layers of denim is gone--hung over the back of a chair with Zach’s coat--and Zach is rooting around his suitcase. Chris stays firmly put where he is and watches, afraid to get much closer now that they are behind closed doors. He is seriously considering chugging his wine while hovering near the door and bolting as soon as it’s gone.

“Ahh, shit,” Zach says. “I can’t find the corkscrew. Can you check the bathroom?”

“The bath---?”

“I might have thrown it in my shaving kit.”

Chris chuckles and rolls his eyes, but he heads for the bathroom anyway. Zach’s black toiletry bag is sitting on the edge of the sink, and Chris pecks through it gingerly, like he’s going through a woman’s purse. There’s no corkscrew. An electric shaver, a tube of moisturizer...his fingers brush foil and he recoils. 

He’s just beating a hasty retreat when he almost runs into the Zach in the doorway.

“Did you find it?”

“Nah, man,” Chris says, then mentally pats himself on the back for the fact that his voice sounds pretty steady. “Maybe you just forgot it.”

“I guess,” Zach sighs. “So much for that idea.”

This is where he should move out the way and let Chris exit the bathroom, but he doesn’t. 

“It’s fine,” Chris says. “I probably should get some sleep anyway. Like I said, early flight.”

“Chris.” 

No. _No_. Zach can’t say his name like that. Zach can’t look at him like this, like he’s disappointed. Chris has been trying so fucking hard to hold this together for them, and Zach is just going to plow right through all the boundaries if he gets half a chance. This isn’t like texting from thousands of miles away. Zach is right in his space for the first time in months and months, and no one else is here. No one else would know.

But _they_ would know.

“Zach, come on,” Chris says desperately. He reaches up to push on Zach’s chest, then realizes too late how big a mistake it is. He should never have touched.

“Chris,” Zach says again, lower this time. He looks conflicted, and that, at least, is something of a relief. Not enough of a relief though, because he isn’t moving, and Chris feels frayed.

“Look, this is stupid. Tomorrow night you’re going home to--”

“Don’t.” Zach chokes on the word. Chris doesn’t think he has ever seen him look so desperate. He has seen Zach on his knees with Chris’s dick in his throat, seen him with sweat beading on his forehead while he fucks him into the mattress, seen the expression on his face when he says _we can’t do this anymore; I’m with someone now_ \--but he has never seen Zach look so needy, so ravenously desirous. 

Chris shoves him. “Move, Zach. I’ve gotta...I’ve gotta...”

But Zach is like a brick wall, and when he reaches up and brushes Chris’s hair off his forehead, Chris makes an urgent noise in the back of his throat and sways forward involuntarily.

“Please,” he begs, but he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. And then Zach is leaning in and he is leaning in and it just doesn’t fucking matter anymore. Nothing else matters.

Chris has kissed a few people since he last kissed Zach, but none of them tasted quite right, none of their mouths quite fit his. When Zach pushes his tongue roughly past Chris’s teeth, it feels like a part of him that he had been missing, and he groans and sucks hard on it, his fingernails digging into the back of Zach’s neck. Zach kisses him violently, like he’s trying to hurt him, or hurt himself--letting their teeth grind together, biting at Chris’s lips until he tastes copper.

There’s a sick feeling in Chris’s stomach that feels like shame, but it doesn’t keep him from grinding himself into Zach’s thigh, and it doesn’t keep him from letting Zach tug him backward out of the bathroom and toward the bed. He claws at the front of Zach’s shirt until he gets frustrated and just yanks, sending buttons flying through the air. He’s reckless and frantic and stupid, but if they slow down, his brain is going to catch up with him, and he doesn’t want that. They have to stay ahead of it.

Some twisted part of him hopes Miles notices that this shirt is missing and asks what happens to it. He hopes Zach has to look at his boyfriend’s face and think about buttons skipping across the carpet.

Chris’s own shirt gets ripped off over his head and flung somewhere just before Zach shoves him backward on the bed, barely giving him time to scoot toward the headboard before he’s on him again, biting his neck, palming him roughly through his jeans.

“No marks,” Chris hisses.

“Shut the fuck up,” Zach growls back, then licks into his mouth again so he has no choice. Once he seems satisfied that Chris is thoroughly silenced, he breaks the kiss again so he can shuck both of their pants, but not before grabbing a few things out of his pocket and tossing them on the bed by Chris’s head.

“What the _fuck_ \--” Chris starts to say, because did Zach have this _planned_ all along? That’s fucked up. It’s so fucked up. It’s--

But then Zach is back, and it’s skin on skin, naked thighs sliding together and the velvety head of Zach’s cock butting up against his and it feels so fucking perfect that Chris can’t find room in his head for anything but need. He reaches for Zach’s ass and digs his fingers in and thrusts up until his cock is sliding against Zach’s abs, and Jesus, he could come just like this--just from the feeling of Zach’s body against his.

But this isn’t the way he wants to come. If they’re going to do this, they’re going to fucking do it.

“Fuck me,” Chris says. “Now.”

Chris probably isn’t supposed to notice that Zach’s hands are shaking when he reaches up to grab the lube. He probably also isn’t supposed to notice the look in Zach’s eyes when he stares greedily at Chris’s face for a few moments before looking down to watch his fingers disappear into his body. Zach is obviously just as desperate as Chris is, because he isn’t gentle--he pushes two fingers in at once and twists them so that Chris cries out and arches up off the bed. No one has fucked him since Zach fucked him last--almost two years ago--so maybe he should be slowing things down right now, but he wants to feel it. He wants to feel it tomorrow too. If he could figure out a way to make the ache never fade so that he always has proof he and Zach were together like this, he would.

Even when Zach pauses to roll the condom on, Chris can’t bear to lie still and be with his thoughts, he props himself up on his elbows and nips at Zach’s shoulders and his earlobe while Zach looks down their bodies and rolls the condom on with one hand, then lines himself up.

Chris honest-to-God shouts when Zach pushes into him in one slow, inexorable thrust. It burns--it _hurts_ \--but Chris just takes it, just like he takes all the other ways that Zach has learned to hurt him. At least this way they are hurting together. He can tell he isn’t alone by the way Zach buries his face in his neck but doesn’t bite at him anymore, and the way one hand is petting the outside of Chris’s thigh gently while the other squeezes bruises into his hip.

“Come on,” Chris says when he decides Zach has been still too long. “Come on, move.”

And so Zach does. The first couple thrusts are easy, and they make Chris groan low and throw his head back, but after that Zach is obviously finished with going easy. He sits up a little and hooks his hand under Chris’s knees and starts driving into him like he can’t get deep enough, like he’s reaching for a part of Chris no one else has ever had. 

He must not know that all the secret parts of Chris are still in his hands. There is nothing else to give him. His fucking dignity was probably the last part, and now Zach has that too. He has stolen everything.

“Christ,” Chris says under his breath. Then, louder, “Come here.”

He drags Zach in with a hand on the back of his neck and kisses him, wraps the other arm low around his back to keep him close. Zach can’t thrust as deep this way, but it’s almost better, the way their bodies rock together, the way Chris’s dick drags across the skin of Zach’s stomach and warmth collects in the spaces between their bodies and it seems like Zach is everywhere at once. 

“Chris,” Zach gasps into his mouth. “Chris.”

God, he wants to hear Zach says his name over and over forever--for the rest of his life. He wants to lay right here on the scratchy hotel sheets with him and forget anything else even exists, forget the huge empty house in LA where Zach fucked him in every single room, forget the chic New York loft and the baby of a model that-- _no_. No, Chris can’t think about that now.

“Touch me,” he begs, and Zach doesn’t even hesitate before granting his request. He slides a hand between their bodies and grips Chris tight, the path of his hand slicked by sweat and precome. Chris is already close and he doesn’t want it to end, but he wants to think even less, so he pushes up into Zach’s fist and then back down against his cock inside him and grits his teeth as he tries to hold on as long as he can.

“Fuck, Chris, you feel so good.” Zach mouth moves to his neck, then his tongue traces the shell of his ear. “I miss you so much. All the time, I--”

“God, don’t,” Chris sobs. He scrabbles at Zach’s shoulder blades, only barely remembering to leave his fingernails out of the equation. Can’t leave evidence, after all. “Just be quiet.”

The rhythm of Zach’s hips is faltering, but his hand is perfect, and Chris is right there on the edge, holding on by the skin of his teeth. When he goes over, he wants Zach to come with him.

Luckily he doesn’t have to wait long. Another couple circles of his hips and Zach buries himself deep with a groan and sets his teeth against Chris’s shoulder, and it’s that coupled with the feeling of Zach’s dick pulsing inside him that finally has Chris coming hard over Zach’s hand and both of their stomachs, his whole body shaking with it. Zach strokes him all the way through it, even though he is shaking himself, and when they are both spent, he collapses against Chris’s chest, paying no mind to the mess between them.

Chris tries to catch his breath and strokes his fingers down Zach’s back and swallows around the lump in his throat.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” he rasps after a moment. Zach makes no attempt to move though. His breath is hot on Chris’s neck.

“I didn’t plan--”

“Bull _shit_.” _That_ at least gets Zach to move, lifting up on his elbows to look at Chris’s face. His softening cock is still inside Chris, but somehow that seems appropriate. They might as well look at it for what it is.

“It’s not like I fucking forced you,” Zach says. 

He’s right. God, he’s fucking right. Chris feels a wave of nausea, and for some reason the only logical thing he can think to do is crane his neck up and kiss Zach again--hard, more smashing their mouth together than an actual kiss. He pulls away when Zach tilts his head and tries to deepen it. 

“Get off me,” he growls.

Zach looks like he wants to protest, but he mercifully doesn’t. Instead, he slides out of Chris, making him wince, and then rolls to the side and gets up off the bed. He walks toward the bathroom and then returns a moment later with a washcloth, which he tosses on Chris’s stomach. 

“Chris, I--”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, Zach.” Chris wipes himself off quickly and then gets up to go for his pants. He hates doing this--the quick cleanup and get dressed after sex that makes it like it never even happened--but what other choice does he have? The days where they lay in bed for hours afterward and he draws pictures on Zach’s skin with his fingers are long gone.

“Chris.” Zach is in his space all of a sudden again. He pulled his underwear back on at some point, but his chest is still bare, and Chris doesn’t know where to look. His face is certainly not safe. “I meant what I said, about missing--”

“Jesus Christ, I said _stop it_.”

“You have to understand, if I had known--”

“Oh my God.” Chris sidesteps Zach and goes after his shirt, which ended up near the door. He thought he would feel better once he was dressed, but he doesn’t. Not at all. He turns around to face Zach anyway. “Is that really what you’re still telling yourself? That you thought I was just fucking around?”

“If I had known I could be with you like I am with--”

“ _Don’t._ ”

“--with _him_ , then I would have. But you said you weren’t ready.”

“Not ready to come out, Zach! That doesn’t mean my feelings aren’t-- _weren’t_ \--real.”

Zach scowls, bends over and snatches his jeans off the floor. “Well, I couldn’t live like that.”

“So move the fuck on already!” Chris grabs his coat, shoves his arms in the sleeves. “Or let...let me move on.”

Zach falls silent, turning his eyes to the floor, and Chris is stuck there watching while he pulls on his jeans and then snatches up one of the many shirts that are strewn across the floor and tugs it over his head. Then, they just stand there looking at each other for a while, until the silence stretches so long Chris thinks he’s going to snap.

“Look,” he says. “Let’s just forget this happened. I’m not going to...to tell anyone about it.”

Zach’s eyes widen like he hadn’t even considered the possibility. That makes Chris’s blood run cold. Once upon a time he would have bet his life that Zach couldn’t keep a secret like this from someone he loves. And he _does_ love Miles. Chris truly believes he does.

“I don’t know if I can forget,” Zach says. It shouldn’t be comforting to hear. Chris’s stomach rolls.

“Too fucking bad. You’ve got no choice.”

The door is only three steps away, but Zach still gets a hand on his shoulder before he can open it. He spins Chris around and then grips both of his biceps to keep him there. “Chris, I...I wish I could…”

He trails off, and Chris can’t bring himself to jump in to fill in the awkward silence that follows. There are so many ways that sentence could have ended, but not of them matter, because Zach doesn’t get any wishes. And neither does Chris.

“Yeah, well, you can’t,” he says at last. “It’s too late.”

He jerks himself out of Zach’s grip and turns to the door again. Fuck, the thought that he isn’t going to see Zach’s face again for who knows how long is already unbearable, and he hasn’t even left the room yet. He can’t even blame Zach for doing this shit to him. He makes it way too fucking easy.

With a hand on the doorknob, he throws one last look over his shoulder. “Let me know you landed safely, okay?”

He sees Zach’s face crumple just before he walks out the door.


End file.
